


shaving techniques

by Mr_Lonely



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Lazy Morning, M/M, hair cutting, razor mention, well as fluffy as these two can get
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29709621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Lonely/pseuds/Mr_Lonely
Summary: “The fuck are you doing?” came the muffled question. Alfie hummed.“It's your hair, mate. This one piece is sticking up, I’m tryin’ to fucking fix it.”Tommy remained rigid. “Bothering you, is it?”//////Alfie cuts Tommy's hair. There is some kissing.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Alfie Solomons
Comments: 6
Kudos: 66





	shaving techniques

**Author's Note:**

> This is a self-indulgent mess that might not make sense because I wrote it all in one sitting but enjoy.  
> also shoutout to @hermesbabie for putting up with my ranting while writing ily

They were in London, one of the Saturdays when they managed to steal some hours from an incredibly demanding life. Tommy was laying right next him, back turned. That in and of itself was a huge show of trust, the meanings of which Alfie didn't particularly want to ruin the peace thinking about, so he instead looked at the back of Tommy’s head.

Given that they had been… rolling around a bit, to put it one way, Tommy’s hair wasn't nearly as orderly. In fact, there was one tuft in particular, right at the back, that was sticking straight up.

Alfie thought about reaching out and smoothing it down. Or making it worse. 

Normally, he wasn't one to act on impulse. Alfie thought things through, from every angle, and made informed decisions. 

Unlike Tommy, who had a tendency to get himself into a lot of trouble he could have avoided if he'd used any small amount of common sense.

Maybe it was giving the bastard a taste of his own medicine. Maybe being around Tommy like this chipped away at Alfie’s self control enough that he thought, damn the consequences. 

He reached out a hand and brushed the tuft of hair.

Immediately Tommy tensed (he’d known the bastard wasn't asleep) but Alfie didn't take his hand away. 

“The fuck are you doing?” came the muffled question. Alfie hummed.

“It's your hair, mate. This one piece is sticking up, I’m tryin’ to fucking fix it.”

Tommy remained rigid. “Bothering you, is it?”

“Yeah,” Alfie said absently, because his thumb had drifted down to the shaved part, which he’d expected to be a lot spikier than it was. It was actually rather soft. He kept moving his thumb, tracing random patterns or just going back and forth. Slowly, some of the tension in Tommy’s shoulders lessened, but never went away. It never really all went away.

“This might be the longest I've ever seen your hair.”

He didn't mean to say it. Certainly he’d been thinking it, but Alfie had planned on keeping that awkward fucking observation to himself. There was a beat of stillness, then Tommy sat up. In one smooth movement, he pulled a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand and lit it.

“Don't get any ash on my fucking bed, mate.”

Tommy looked at him for a moment, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and grabbed something from where he’d piled his clothes. Two more steps and he disappeared into the hallway.

He wasn't leaving, that much was clear; he’d have taken all of his clothes, unless he planned on walking the streets of London in his shorts. Besides, Alfie has said much worse things, to which Tommy normally responded with a roll of his eyes or a glare, or just by ignoring the comment. 

It seemed to be a morning of following his instincts, so Alfie pulled on a pair of pants (he wasn't about to walk around his house naked) and went into the hallway. Sure enough, the door was open and the light was on. Tommy was sitting on the edge of the tub with his hat in his lap. It didn't take much effort to connect the pieces.

“You're telling me, you actually shave your head with the razor in your fucking hat?”

Tommy leveled Alfie with a look that would have been intimidating to any common man, but Alfie was growing immune. 

“Can't just use a normal fucking razor?”

Tommy continued to pick at the seam in practiced movements. “Why?”

Alfie threw his hands up, ready to drop the issue and let the man cut his pretty head to ribbons with the tiny razor sewn in his fucking hat. Then he remembered something. 

It only took a moment of digging underneath the sink to find the old razor he’d gotten before he decided to leave his beard as God intended. 

“Here.”

Tommy didn't even look up. He’d gotten the razor out of his hat and was shifting it in his hand. 

“Fuck’s sake, Thomas, just use the razor.” Their eyes met, and there was a moment of tinder that could have sparked a worse argument, given that they were both now holding something sharp. Alfie chewed on his words a moment, then said. “Let me give it a shot, mate.”

The angry tension melted instantly into a very different kind of tension that lingered in the air and in the slight color growing in Tommy’s cheeks.

More silence. Seemed that for two men who loved to argue, their interactions were filled with a lot of silences. 

Tommy’s lip twitched. “How do I know you don't want to slit my bloody throat, eh?”

“If I wanted to kill you, mate, I'd have done it while you were choking on my--”

“ _Alfie._ ”

“Alright, alright,” Alfie held up his hands placatingly. “I'll behave.”

Tommy snorted. “Will wonders never cease?” 

For his first time shaving someone’s head, Alfie thought he did a great job. Tommy was more neutral in his opinion, but didn't stab Alfie with the razor once he put it down, so that was a good sign. The tiny bathroom had just enough room for the two of them, Tommy sitting on the edge of the bathtub with Alfie between his legs.

Truth be told, there wasn't much hair to shave off. Tommy kept his hair well maintained, and there might not have been a need for this situation, but neither of them were inclined to leave. The rest of the world started back in the hallway, here in the bathroom it was just them.

Alfie turned only enough to chuck the razor in the sink. When he turned back around, Tommy was looking up at him. "How much do I owe you?" He asked, deadpan, betrayed only by a glint in his eye Alfie wouldn't dare call playful. (Well, at least not to his face.)

“How about you shut up, yeah?” 

Before Tommy could respond, Alfie pulled him up and kissed him, hands steady on his hips. Tommy's arms came up instinctively to rest on Alfie's biceps as he returned the kiss. It was a lazy morning, they were in no hurry, and traces of the fire from last night were burning at a low simmer. When they finally pulled away to breathe, they didn't go very far. 

Tommy’s lips twitched into a small smile, reserved for moments like these, when they were close enough and he was feeling open enough and he thought he could hide the smile against Alfie's lips, or shoulder, or back. Alfie knew that smile more by feel than by sight; that was fine by him.


End file.
